This Sucks
by TheVeiledFairy
Summary: Brittana. Night before Nationals:  "I swear I have a sixth sense or something because this. This would definitely rank pretty high on the list of "things that can go wrong for Santana" right now…" Only a smidgen angsty. It's not bad. Promise!


"_Alright you guys! Wake up! We're here!"_  
>Ugh. Schuester: Forever the chipper enthusiast. I just wants to get to my room, to my bed, and sleep.<p>

This has been the longest ride of my life, and between Finnocence snoring like some kind of overgrown beast and Berry practicing her scales non-stop, I am about ready to murder someone.

I would have yelled at Berry to shut the fuck up sooner, but the mop of blonde hair that is Brittany was resting against my shoulder, weighing me down, and inadvertently calming me even in slumber.

She wouldn't have liked me yelling at Rachel and I wouldn't have liked the pout and cold shoulder I would have received if I'd woken her up to do it.

Ugh. Anyways. I just want to be off this bus and why the 4 mile long line of baggage and grumpy teenagers isn't moving is beyond me. We just haaaad to sit in the back.

I'd known when Brittany insisted that this meant we would be the last ones off _and _that I would be in no mood to wait when the time came, but those fucking eyes.

The piercing blue, the _Pierce_ blue, could make me do just about anything.

Finally. If I hadn't gotten away from the raging mob any sooner, I would have gone way past Lima Heights on somebody…probably Berry.

I dragged Britts with me because it seems that lately every time I step away from her, Wheels comes rolling in trying to win her back. It's really starting to get on my last nerve.

This is how I ended up here in this elevator. Brittany's been staring at me for about a minute now. Like a full fucking minute and it's making me antsy.

I'm sure the fact that we're headed up to the hotel room, _our_ hotel room, alone, hasn't gone over her head. If there's anything she understands, it's sexy time and how to make it happen.

Shit. She's smirking at me now. Wait, when did I start biting my lip and _when_ did she get so close to me?

Ugh. I wish she'd just look away for a second. This is hard enough as it is, without her constantly needing to get all up in my grill without actually _getting_ all up in my grill.

Seriously, anyone who thought Brittany was sweet, clearly doesn't know her at all *cough*Wheels.

Brittany is cruel. The way she just subtly brushed her breasts over my arm as she leaned her head to my shoulder proves it.

If there was any doubt left, the smile I feel creeping across her face and into my collarbone at my hitched, erratic breathing is the smoking gun. I don't care what anyone says. And people think _I'm _cruel.

_Sighh. _Have elevators always been this small? And surely the air in here shouldn't be so …thick. It's almost pulsing.

*DING*

Thank fucking God. I needs to get out of here. She's going to be the death of me. Between that freaking pout and the whimper she just let out when I pulled away to exit the elevator, she knows exactly what she's doing.

I know I'm practically sprinting away from her, but I just…can't right now. I just want to lay in my bed, pretend to sleep, and pray Brittany's given up her pushing for the day. And she _is_ still pushing. Just in a different way.

She's been all "Be proud of yourself. Love yourself," for the past few weeks, but now? Now she's just dangling herself in front of me.

Brittany thinks that I'll eventually do what _she_ wants and come out to everyone just because I want her.

I mean I obviously want her, she knows that. She's my everything, but she also knows how _long _it's been and that I _want_ her. Whatever I'm probably just overanalyzing it. I should just focus on finding our room.

Schuester better not have skimped on them either. We got the flight for free so I'm expecting first class accommodations.

I've almost got the door open until I get hip checked to the side and drop my key. What the hell? Where did she just come from?

I'm trying really hard not to stare. Like really, **really** hard, but the way she's bent over at the waist, arching her back into an almost painful angle, and reaching down to grab the fallen key card is making it hard for me to pull my eyes away.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Is time moving slower? No? That's just me? Okay. I'm pretty sure that my knees are about to give out and really! She is moving in slow fucking motion right now!

Brittany catches my eyes around the curtain blonde hair half hiding her face as she rolls her body up with a dancer's fluidity and swipes the card, successfully opening the door and slipping through it.

Yeah, don't help with the bags or anything. Ugh.

I'm struggling to get all the bags through the door when I hear it. I stop short in the tiny hallway, dropping the bags as Brittany breathes out "Awesome," before I hear her then plop down onto her bed.

I quickly murmur something about needing air and grab the spare key on my way out. I didn't even bother looking at the room. It looked nice enough, but my head was still spinning from Brittany's teasing. That girl….ugh that _girl!_

I'm so frustrated. It shouldn't be this hard. I don't know what to do anymore and it just sucks. Maybe we shouldn't have roomed together.

When we signed up in February, we were still inspecting each other's plumbing so it seemed like the best idea, but now…being closed up in a room with her without the implication of sex is not something I'm looking forward to.

Especially with the teasing mood she's been in. Dammit. I need a fucking drink. If it weren't for Nationals, I'd totally go out and find some gay bar and drink away my sorrows.

Hey, I'm trying to own it in my head at least. Give me some credit.

I know I need to head back to the room soon. It's getting dark, so when some hobo asks me to be his queen, I decide I'd better get back.

I can feel my heart pounding and as I make my way into the main part of the room, stepping over the bags that still lay wanton and forgotten in the entryway.

I'm not really sure why, but I feel anxious; like something's wrong. As I step into the dim light, my eyes widen, almost comically I'd wager.

Well. Now I know why. I swear I have a sixth sense or something because _this. _This would definitely rank high on the list of "Things that can go wrong for Santana" right now.

Brittany is sprawled out on the bed, legs splayed open wildly and suggestively across the mattress. Her tangled blond locks are falling in waves over one of the overly fluffy pillows adorning it, and she has stripped down to nothing but a baggy t shirt and her trademark knee socks while I was gone.

She looks beautiful and I really need to swallow whatever this huge thing trying to escape my throat is.

I'm having trouble breathing as I run my eyes over her long exposed legs up to the juncture between her thighs, lingering on the baby blue boy shorts peeking out from under the t shirt.

I can also see that she's not wearing a bra and it's really not doing good things for my resolve.

I make my way further into the room and around a corner where there's a full kitchen area. As I turn back to face Brittany, the realization hits me. Hard.

We only have one bed. _One_ bed. Fuck I am _so _screwed.

This. Sucks.

If you had told me a year ago that I'd be in this position, first of all, unwillingly, and second of all, wishing I could do anything to change it, I wouldn't have believed you.

I would've laughed in your face and then, upon further reflection of what you were implying, I would've threatened you until you revealed your sources. But that's neither here nor there.

The only thing that matters right now is that this sucks. What makes it worse is that it's my fault. I could fix this in a heartbeat. I know it, but groveling and sexy sharing circles aren't exactly how we do it in Lima Heights.

Okay, fine. So I did the circle thing once. Whatever. And maybe I groveled a little the one time…two times. Seriously, are you like the memory police? What the fuck does it matter?

It's not my style and I don't plan on making a habit of it, okay? Lay off.

I know I've royally screwed up and this is probably some kind of sick, sadistic punishment being delivered from the universe by the same person who decided that Breadstix shouldn't be open at 2am when I'm drunk and feenin. Either way, here I am, in New York City the night before nationals, and I can't sleep.

I'd like to blame the caffeine high I'm sporting because Aretha and Gay kid had an unfathomable need to drag me out of bed at obnoxious hours satiate their own cravings, but honestly? I hadn't been sleeping anyways and had all but jumped out of the bed when they called.

When I got back, it was about 1:30am and the room was exactly how I left it. I'd crawled back into bed, the _single_ bed (Seriously. Wtf?), as gingerly as possible and now here I am.

I mean the ceiling in this room is pretty nice, but I'd really rather be dreaming of how fierce I'm gonna look on stage tomorrow, rather than counting the tiles and doing my best to stay ramrod still.

I swear, what did I do to deserve this? Don't answer that. I know. I _know._ I know that I was wrong, that I _am_ wrong, but it's just hard okay?

It's not exactly like I'll walk out of the closet and into a grassy meadow filled with daisies and rainbows. It's complicated, alright? I know I'm hurting her and it _kills _me, but I'm just not ready.

I also know that Brittany isn't sleeping anymore. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head as she debates her next move. I'm praying that she falls asleep before she can decide.

When she turns onto her side and places a hand across my abdomen, effectively coaxing me to mirror her position, I stop breathing. One of these days I'm going to stop and forget how to start again if she keeps this up.

The moonlight pouring into the room reflects in her sparkling eyes, illuminating the love, the plea that she's trying to make with her eyes. I sigh because seriously? Those fucking _eyes. _

I hear her whisper something, but I didn't quite catch it. She repeats it again and I have to look away. This is too much. Feelings make everything freaking complicated and I just want things to be easy.

"I'll wait, but I'm here for you. _With_ you. You don't have to be alone anymore," she breathes and I'm pretty sure at this point I'm dreaming, but the firm hand on my hip is grounding me and giving me that final push.

"Britt…I…" I whisper hesitantly, and she instantly recoils, withdrawing her hand and lowering her eyes. She moves to lie back down but I can't bear to see her in pain this way.

"Tomorrow." It's out before I even have a chance to process it and her eyes are back on mine in an instant. It's whispered so quietly that the selfish part of me hopes she hadn't heard.

"Tomorrow?" she questions, skeptically. I can see the battle raging within her, and as I watch this girl, the love of my life, grasping for the last shred of hope that I, and I alone have ruined, I know that I meant it.

"Tomorrow," I reassure her, and she launches herself at me, bringing our lips together in frantic kiss. Her lips, her hands, her _everything,_ are all over me and I can feel her giving herself to me completely as she continues to assault my all too willing body.

She works us both out of our clothes and we're keyed up and humming in no time; panting heavily as we both explore each other for, what seems like, the first time.

She works her fingers between us and as she enters me, I sigh out my love for her and as she beams down at me, kissing my lips languidly as she works me up with practiced fingers, I know, without a doubt that tomorrow will be totally worth it.


End file.
